


breathless

by rangerhitomi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Dark Signer Barians, M/M, Rebirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryoga wakes up with a mark on his arm and no memories... and then he discovers that he is dead. </p><p>And the only thing worse than being dead is being alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathless

Every muscle in his body burns as though he has sprinted up a mountainside; his lungs barely respond to his attempts to gasp for air, and he is inexplicably relieved to find that he is not underwater, that he is dry though his skin feels like ice. He hears quiet, urgent voices around him and when he manages to pry his bleary eyes open, he sees nothing but the dim flicker of candlelight and the outline of two moving shapes.

“He’s awake,” one of the shapes says in a deep, calming voice.

“It won’t do any good if he remembers anything,” the other voice hisses, but the first silences him with a soft _shh_.

“Deep breaths now, my friend. What is your name?”

 _Name, name… what is my…_ “Ryoga Kamishiro.” It comes to him slowly, and he’s afraid for a moment. It shouldn’t be this hard to remember something as important as his name. He’s still freezing and he pulls the blankets tighter around his trembling shoulders. His arm stings painfully but he doesn’t have the energy to examine it to see why.

The first nods slowly and helps Ryoga to sit up. The bed he is on is lumpy and has no springs for support. Yet he suspects the mattress has nothing to do with the pain in his body. “I am Durbe.” He gestures toward his partner. “This is Mizael.”

Ryoga can’t get a good look at either of their faces, shrouded by cloaks, but he can see that Mizael is tall, with light hair and a haughty posture. Durbe is shorter but holds himself with his shoulders straight back, confident, authoritative. “How did I get here? Why do I…”

“Does it hurt?” Durbe whispers, and he starts touching Ryoga’s forearm-

Ryoga wordlessly pulls his hand away and blinks furiously. His eyes are adjusting quickly to the dimness and he can make out more shapes – a table, chairs, several unlit candles. His arm stings where Durbe has touched it. “How did I get here?” he asks again, and he sees Mizael and Durbe exchange a glance.

“We found you… unconscious,” Durbe says, too carefully to be believable.

“Where?” Ryoga tries to climb off the mattress but Mizael shoves him back.

“You’re not well,” the taller man says disdainfully. “Sit back.”

“No.” Something’s wrong, but Ryoga can’t figure out what it is. He’s sure he’s forgotten something. “Yuma.” The name slips from his tongue, and it feels familiar. He says the name again and it comforts him. There’s something about _Yuma_ that’s important. “Who’s Yuma?”

They exchange another glance and that’s all Ryoga needs in order to know that Durbe’s soft _I don’t know_ is a lie. He lets Durbe tuck him in, barely listens as Durbe and Mizael have another heated discussion in soft voices. He waits until they leave and he no longer hears their voices or their footsteps before he slips out of bed, out of the dim room, and out into a rainy street.

* * *

 

He doesn’t know where he is, or why his feet are carrying him in this particular direction. No one who passes him spares him a glance or even acknowledges his presence. Every inch of his body hurts, and his arm still stings as though pierced with a thousand needles.

 _Yuma_ , he thinks numbly, and he wishes he knew why Yuma was important to him, whoever he was.

He pulls the hood of his coat over his face to keep the rain out of his eyes. The neon city lights cast blurry glares through the falling water and over the puddles over the ground. He wipes the water from his face and pauses, hand touching a tender area of skin below his eyes, running in a long stroke to his chin. And when he lifts his arm, the sleeve of his coat slides up.

There’s an outline of some kind of creature tattooed on his arm – a fish of some kind, maybe, or a shark. He has no recollection of getting it, and it’s raw, as though it’s recent. It doesn’t look like ink, either; it has an ethereal glow to it. Even through the darkness and the rain, he can see it clearly.

He hears a laugh, high and hysterical, but it’s in his head and he doesn’t know who it belongs to.

* * *

 

Maybe he’s adjusted to the darkness, but he can see almost as clearly as though it’s daytime now.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in a puddle and freezes, placing his hand to his face again, and kneels next to the rippling water. His free hand fumbles to pull off his hood, and the rain stings the sensitive skin on his face, only now he can see that the skin is tattooed as well, and his eyes…

They’re hollow and black where they should be white, and the blue of his irises stands out vividly.

He screams.

* * *

 

Durbe and Mizael are arguing again, but Ryoga just stares at his reflection in a cracked mirror and wills himself to wake up from this nightmare.

But he doesn’t, because it’s not a nightmare, and all he can do is shake with fury and dread and hopelessness.

Mizael wins the argument; he reaches up and pulls his hood down, revealing long hair and eyes that are sunken and black, except his irises, which are an icy blue. Ryoga isn’t surprised to see them. Mizael and Durbe both have faces that mirror his own; dead eyes, marks on their faces, glowing runes on their arms. Some kind of claw on Mizael, some kind of winged creature on Durbe’s. Just the glowing outline.  Just like Ryoga.

“You’re dead,” Mizael says without preamble, and Durbe closes his own grey eyes, almost silver against their black backdrop.

It should be a preposterous claim, but Ryoga finds that it really isn’t. After all, he hears it more frequently. The laughter. The taunts. The chains at his feet. The crushing weight on his lungs, the water… the water filling his lungs, his chest burning for the air that he would never take in again. It makes sense, why he woke in this place gasping for breath.

“I drowned,” he says quietly, and Durbe’s mouth twists.

“I’m sorry.”

Durbe isn’t really sorry, though, because later that night Ryoga can hear him whispering to Mizael about how they can win with Ryoga’s power.

* * *

 

It comes back to him when he sees the youthful, bright red eyes belonging to his best friend. It comes back to him when Yuma wraps his arms around Ryoga’s waist, buries his head in Ryoga’s chest, and cries into him.

Yuma was the most important person in his life.

Ryoga stands still, not lifting his arms to comfort Yuma, and not uttering a word. He can’t bring himself to speak. What can he possibly say?

_I’m dead._

He dueled for Yuma. He remembers that; it was to keep Yuma from getting dragged into something that he didn’t need to be a part of. Only, he failed. The voice, the laughter… the shadowed figure wanted Yuma. It wanted to kill Yuma. So Ryoga fought it to keep Yuma safe; he agreed to duel weighted down with chains, where the one to lose would plummet into a bottomless, icy lake.

The price for failure was his own life, and he failed.

The mark on his arm throbs. He doesn’t want to do this. But he has to, and he knows it, so he leans down and kisses Yuma gently on the lips.

“Duel me,” he whispers.

“Shark-” Yuma whimpers, and tears are spilling from those bright, innocent eyes.

Ryoga places a finger on Yuma’s lips and offers him a sorrowful smile. “The only way to fulfil your destiny is to defeat us, Yuma. Defeat us or the world is ours.”

_Kill me, for real, and end this misery._

“I can’t.” Yuma flings himself into Ryoga’s shoulder again and cries.

Yuma’s warm breath feels strange against Ryoga’s icy skin as Ryoga places his lips to Yuma’s ear. “We can be together, Yuma.”

Yuma doesn’t deserve to have his warm touch turned cold, doesn’t deserve for those beautiful, hopeful eyes to turn black and dead.

“I’m going to bring you back,” Yuma whispers back, and his hand absently touches Ryoga’s facial markings.

Ryoga almost smiles. If it would make Yuma fight… he could believe that he had the power to bring the dead back to life. “ _Kattobing_ , Yuma,” he says softly, and he hates the part of him that hopes that Yuma will join him in death. But the only thing worse than being dead was being alone.


End file.
